


Disposable

by SadinaSaphrite



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Recall, Various background characters - Freeform, Zenyatta vs Junkrat Round One: Fight!, background genyatta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 02:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadinaSaphrite/pseuds/SadinaSaphrite
Summary: It was only a temporary alliance, Winston assured the team. The two Junkers would only be with them for one month, but in that time, they'd already threatened the life of the resident omnic monk, much to everyone's outrage. Zenyatta was flattered that they cared so much, truly he was.But Tekhartha Zenyatta could take care of himself, thank you very much.





	Disposable

It was only for one month, Winston had assured the agents currently residing at Watchpoint Gibraltar. Their demolitions expertise and familiarity with the Australian Outback would be essential for the upcoming mission. The alliance was definitely a temporary one. Despite his reassurances, the majority of the recalled Overwatch agents had been quick to protest hiring the two wanted criminals Mako “Roadhog” Rutledge and Jamison “Junkrat” Fawkes. They were dangerous, unhinged, and the exact opposite of what the new Overwatch was supposed to be. Desperate times called for desperate measures, Winston had solemnly stated amid the protests. In the meantime, it was recommended that the team find a good balance between keeping an eye on the unscrupulous duo and also not upsetting them enough that they would consider bailing on the mission. Or something else even more…unpredictable.

The dynamic pair hadn’t made it two days before they had caused an altercation. Zenyatta had been in the communal recreation room when the pair had made their opinions on the continued existence of omnics quite clear, with the heavily implication that Zenyatta would look significantly better in pieces scattered in a scrapyard. Zenyatta had been quite flattered when all present had sprung to his defense, and had been grateful that the Junkers had decided to retreat instead of escalate the situation further, though they left with a very clear parting threat as to Zenyatta’s wellbeing. 

Ever since, a member of the team had been by his side, day or night, serving as his unspoken, unofficial bodyguard. They had done their best to make it seem innocuous, of course. Lena begging that Zen tell her everything about the monastery in Nepal, Lucio asking him to sit and listen to his new compositions, Hana insisting that he simply _must_ watch the new video game she was playing, all carefully calculated so that Zenyatta was never once left alone. And Genji, bless him, his brightest student and dearest friend was with him so often he had become a second shadow. 

Zenyatta was honored, truly he was, that his new and old friends cared so deeply about his safety, but after a solid week of persistent companionship, their constant attentions were becoming a bit…much. It was when Genji had become stressed enough by the whole situation that he started having trouble sleeping that Zenyatta decided enough was finally enough. Avoiding a problem didn’t solve it, and he had always been willing to welcome some adversity in his life.

Besides, Tekhartha Zenyatta could take care of himself, thank you very much.

He was able to slip away from his self-proclaimed guards when Fareeha had left him alone to change into her gym clothes. Zen would have to apologize to her later, and suggest that perhaps a game of basketball would be more fun with two small teams, instead of one on one with the two of them. Genji was hopefully getting some much needed rest, but Zen took care to avoid their usual meditation spots, just in case. Instead, he passed conspicuously by the garage that the Junkers had claimed as their own, preferring to camp out by their motorcycle instead of stay inside the Watchpoint’s spare bedrooms with everyone else. He took his time, making it clear that he was alone, then went to meditate by the cliff side, overlooking the sea.

It was fourteen minutes before Zen’s audio sensors heard the telltale sound of a rat come sniffing at the bait, though there was no sign of his porcine friend. The man seemed to be making an attempt at stealth, but his improvised peg leg and the muffled sound of repressed manic giggling did little to assist him.

“I dearly hope that you are here to meditate with me,” Zenyatta stated calmly, turning his head to watch Junkrat from the corner of his optics. “It would be a most pleasant surprise and I would enjoy the change in company.”

“Only one got one surprise for you, y’piece of junk!” he crowed. He clutched some sort of home-made grenade launcher in his hands and cackled as the device lobbed an apple-sized spherical explosive at Zenyatta. The sphere appeared to have no fuse, likely designed to explode on impact, so Zen twisted his metal body to one side, as graceful as a dancer, and let the bomb sail past him and over the edge of the cliff, a painted smiley face beaming at Zen as it flew past and vanished into the sea far below.

“A well-aimed shot,” Zen commented, watching the explosion unfurl beneath the waves, the splash of water still dwarfed by the vast size and scope of the ocean. “If I had not moved, that likely would have struck my chest.”

“There’s more where that came from!” With another manic laugh, Junkrat launched a whole volley of explosives at him, bomb after bomb launching toward him, some aimed impeccably directly at him, others flung wildly to either side of him, making the entire cliff side dangerous.

Zenyatta flowed like water around the grenades, gracefully avoiding the bombs flung his way until he found three coming at him at once, just far enough apart that he couldn’t dodge all three. Without breaking form, he dodged the first, then reached out and caught the other two, one bomb in each hand, spinning as he did so, redirecting their energy and keeping their momentum going so they wouldn’t register the catch as an impact to trigger. After a complete spin, his orbs twirling around his neck with him, he released the explosives, sending the last two flying out toward the sea.

Junkrat scowled at him, frag launcher empty. “Oi. Ain’t you supposed to be some kind of monk? Didn’t think you’d put up this much of a fight.”

Zen settled back into a relaxed position, legs tucked up beneath him as he floated idly. “As much as I appreciate your optimistic opinion of my pacifism, I must admit I am quite proficient in the art of Tai chi, meeting Yin with Yang and redirecting the flow of negative energy. Now that you appear to be out of ammunition, would you care to join me? The view is quite lovely.”

The Junker appeared less than inclined to accept his invitation, giving a snarl instead and lunging for him, metal fist leading. It would have been easy to slide out of the way, but then Junkrat would have been following his bombs over the edge of the cliff, and Zen truly wished no ill upon the agitated man. Instead he deflected the punch with one arm, catching the back of Junkrat’s soot-stained head and helped to guide his momentum in a direction that sent the man off balance. After that, it was an easy motion to get him to pivot on his peg leg and make him lose his balance entirely, sending him sprawling onto his back with a soft thump. 

“I would humbly request that we end this before one of us does something regrettable.” Zenyatta hummed softly. “If you would like, you may join me for meditation. Otherwise, you are welcome to follow your own path, provided that it does not involve either of us going over the edge of this cliff.”

Junkrat was somewhat less calm.

“You’re junk, you know that?” The man spat venomously from the ground. “You’re just floating trash, waiting to find your scrapheap! Garbage! You’re a model of millions, designed to be disposable!”

Zenyatta eased backward, giving the Junker the space to stand, if he chose.

“An interesting observation,” he remarked, redirecting the words as easily as the punch. “Are we not all designed to be disposable?”

“Wot are you going on about?” Junkrat grumbled, getting to his feet.

“You are quite correct. I was initially built as a service drone, to be used and replaced once I became irrelevant, or once I had outlived my usefulness.” Zen inclined his head, giving Junkrat a close look. “Does the same not apply to you, Mr. Fawkes? What happened when the Australian omnium exploded, destroying your home? Did your government not decide you were disposable and abandon you?”

“Oi, who needs a government anyway?” Junkrat half-heartedly brushed the dirt from his already dirty clothes. “A little anarchy never hurt nobody.”

“And what of your safe haven?” Zen pressed. “Did your queen think you were disposable when she banished you to the wastes?”

Junkrat looked up at him sharply, eyes narrowing. “Now, how do you know about that?”

“We are all designed to be disposable under the hands of those who wish to control us,” the monk continued, breezing past the question. “However, it is the destiny we choose for ourselves that makes us who we are and who we will become. We are only as disposable as we allow ourselves to be.”

A look of confusion crossed Junkrat’s face.

“You seem to have found some purpose with your expertise in demolitions. As for myself, once I embraced the teachings of the Iris-”

Confusion turned to rage as something inside Junkrat snapped. 

“You can take your bloody Iris and get stuffed, you drongo!” The Junker turned on his good heel and stormed away without another word, leaving Zenyatta staring after him with surprise. 

Alas. It was unfair to try and teach a fish to fly, and it seemed the same held true with rats. Zen watched his retreating back curiously, wondering what exactly set him off, and if he could still find a way to help the complicated man during his brief stay. With a sigh of whirring cybernetics, he turned back to the sea, grateful for the opportunity to get some restful meditation at last.

#### Epilogue:

Bloody piece of scrap. Who does he think he is? Trying to act all chummy and confusing before pulling out that load of tosh about the Iris? Junkrat was no fool. He’d been in the ruins of the destroyed omnium before the Junkers looted it to hell and back. He’d looked into the heart of the Iris and seen it for what it really was.

Omnics couldn’t be trusted. The Iris couldn’t be trusted. Anyone who did was in for a rude awakening. Junkrat would be there when it happened. 

There was always profit to be made in chaos.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt from my tumblr, dabbledrabbleprose. Also my first time writing both Zen and Junkrat, so that was an...experience. I got the idea that Zen would know Tai Chi from his dance emote, btw. Forgive the conspiracy theory epilogue!


End file.
